


Braving the Storm

by Scruggzi



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Just Add Kittens, MFMM Year of Tropes, This is obnoxiously fluffy, i mean that literally, mrrrp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-12-15 00:45:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11794920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scruggzi/pseuds/Scruggzi
Summary: Jack's working late on Christmas Eve and reminiscing to himself about the previous year and his reunion with Phryne in London. His evening is interrupted by a couple of unexpected visitors with whom he falls instantly in love. What terrors will he face in order to protect them from the storm?





	1. Chapter 1

 

It was Christmas Eve, 1930, and Detective Inspector Jack Robinson was working late. This was not, if you took the last decade or so of his life into account, an especially unusual experience. He was not a religious man, Christmas had never held more for him than the promise of a good dinner, and he had no children to wrap presents for. Since the breakdown of his marriage, he had no family to speak of either, at least not the kind that could be reasonably taken into account when drawing up the duty roster. This did not mean that he did not have somewhere else that he would categorically prefer to be right now, or someone else he would most definitely prefer to spend his Christmas Eve with. Still, he would see her tomorrow. He checked his watch. Well, today at this point. If he were a superstitious man, this would be the time to expect some sort of Christmas miracle, as a realist he was more than half anticipating a horrible murder.  

The weather coming up to Christmas had been sticky and humid, and the stale air of the station clung to his skin, making him feel grubby and uncomfortable even without his jacket on. As it was late and even crime seemed slow this evening, he allowed himself to loosen his tie, even popping open the top button of his collar in an attempt to get some relief from the oppressive heat. They were due a storm, he thought. As if in answer, a low rumble of thunder sounded way off over the bay, still too far away to bring any cooler air with it.

He cast his mind back to last Christmas, when he had been off duty and well out of his jurisdiction, the chill of the English winter a decidedly different kind of discomfort, although there had been a storm that night as well.

_He had telegraphed to let her know his ship had been delayed by bad weather and he would meet her in London. No sense in her waiting around in Southampton for him when he didn’t even know how long it would take to get there. Her reply hadn’t provided any indication of her feelings on the matter, just an address. He was nervous. She had asked, and he had come after her. As with all things Phryne Fisher, he had no idea what to expect next._

Now he was attuned to it he noticed the lightning when it flashed, still a long way off. The thunder took some time to catch up. He counted the seconds; almost a minute, still at least ten miles out, it was going to be a big one if the thunder was so loud at this distance.

_The ship had docked in the rain but before the worst of the storm had hit. Jack had pulled his overcoat tight around him, gripped the handle of his single suitcase and boarded a train to London. By the time he had arrived at her door he was wet through and grubby with soot from the train, his attempts to clean himself up with a handkerchief only partly successful. He was seriously wondering if it wouldn’t have been better to book a hotel, arrive in the morning, clean shaven and, well, clean. It might have been a better Christmas surprise than appearing late on Christmas Eve looking like a drowned rat. Still, too late now. He knocked._

The storm was getting closer, he decided. The spaces between lightning and thunder narrowing ever so slightly with each flash and rumble. It had started to rain in fat, splattering drops that hammered loud against his office window. He felt momentarily thankful to be behind his desk; this was not a night he would like to be out on patrol. He might have to work, but at least he was inside where it was dry.

 _The butler who answered appeared to concur with Jack’s assessment that a bath and a shave might have been in order before calling on one of the wealthiest and most desirable women in London. The man looked like he had half a mind to send him to the tradesman’s entrance._ _He did however, condescend to take Jack’s card. An identical copy of the card she had demanded of him the very first time they met, capering about his crime scene all competence and calculated flirtation. He wondered if she would remember as well. It was not so long ago really, barely 18 months, and for four of those months they had exchanged only brief, stilted conversation via letters and telegrams. He would once have scoffed at the idea of him falling so hard for a woman that he would follow her so far on a whim, especially after so little time, and with so little certainty about his reception. Apparently, Phryne Fisher had the power to call forth the spirit of Don Quixote in even the most careful of men. He flashed a small, self-depreciating smile at an oil painting of a medieval knight hanging by the stairs. This may well have been a truly terrible idea._

The temperature had noticeably dropped now which was initially a relief, but the shirt he was wearing was damp with sweat so after the initial reprieve it merely switched the gears of his discomfort rather than alleviating it. He pulled his jacket back on and straightened his tie before moving out towards the bullpen. The young constable on duty was new to City South, Collins having been given the evening off to spend with his wife and their little girl.

“You might as well check the cells Jones, see if anyone wants a cup of tea or an extra blanket. It is Christmas after all.”

He managed not to smile at the eagerness with which the young man obeyed his orders, which was probably due as much to boredom as a desire to impress. It turned out to be a prescient suggestion. The next flash of lightning was much closer, and the thunder loud enough to wake at least one of the drunks they had locked up downstairs. They heard the old digger’s frightened shout ring out as the peal died away. Poor bastard. Although it was probably better in the cells than out on the street on a night like this.

Satisfied that his subordinate could handle a lonely drunk on his own, Jack returned to his office and shut the door, losing himself again in his memories.

_His stood in her hallway, heart in his mouth and hat in his hands, the slush melting from his boots and dripping off his overcoat towards the pristine tiles of the vestibule floor. The butler had not offered to take his things and from the way he eyed his luggage and the contemptuous look he gave him, it was clear to Jack that the man expected to be ushering him straight back out into the storm upon his return from his mistress. Jack could only hope he was wrong._

_The seconds ticked by, the hall clock, louder than it had any right to be, seemed to be running slow, or perhaps it was just that his racing heart easily outpaced it. The butler returned, looking more disapproving than ever, and informed him that Miss Fisher would be down shortly. The man finally offered to take Jack’s coat and hat – which he promptly disappeared with, presumably to hang them to dry somewhere. This left Jack still standing in the hall, his suit at least a little cleaner than his overcoat, his hair doing its best to break free from the last vestiges of pomade and run amok across his forehead._

_And then she was there, at the top of the stairs, staring down at him as if his damp, dishevelled self was the best present she could possibly receive._

_“Jack!” She was beaming, the welcome sight warmed his heart in this cold country like summer sunlight on the bay._

_Phryne practically flew down the last few steps towards him, the weight of her body slamming into him with such force he was nearly pinned to the front door, her lips finding his, her tongue demanding access to his mouth. Her wandering hands had found their way beneath his suit jacket and he decided to follow her lead, taking a number of unexpected liberties with his own questing fingers which elicited a delighted gasp from Phryne. The sound was almost enough to make him forget he was a gentleman entirely._

_Clearly that was Phryne’s intention because she withdrew from his mouth just far enough to lean up and whisper in his ear…_

CRASH!

The sound of the station door slamming open and then closed in quick succession was accompanied by the noise of running footsteps. Jack was on his feet in a second, pushing through his office door and into the empty bullpen. Jones was apparently still tending to the drunk and whoever had entered had not chosen to linger. A trail of damp footprints led from the station doors to the counter which was now occupied by a soggy cardboard box. The Inspector glanced out of the front doors but with the rain now coming down in sheets against the dark night he had no hope of catching whoever it was. He couldn’t even tell which direction they had gone in.

Cautiously, he approached the box, pulling gloves from his trouser pocket to lever up the lid. He was greeted by two pairs of large green eyes and a soft ‘mrrrp’. Huddled together on damp and rather pungent newspaper were two tiny kittens. The smaller of the two was sleek, black and svelte, she regarded him haughtily for a few seconds before blinking and washing her face, daintily and with every appearance of disinterest. The slightly bigger one was a fluffy grey tabby, his paws disproportionately large for his tiny body, hinting at the size of the tom he would become. Jack removed the gloves and reached into the box gingerly, the tabby stood up began to nuzzle at his outstretched fingers.

At this point Constable Jones, who had apparently managed to escape the drunk in the cells with only moderate difficulty, reappeared at the top of the stairs.

“Glad you could join us, Jones. We appear to have visitors.” He admonished dryly, after all, it could have been something serious and the man had hardly rushed to the scene.

“What was that, sir? I heard a noise.” The constable appeared more curious than chastised by the Inspector’s tone and approached the box with interest, but stepped back at once when he saw what was inside.

“They make me sneeze, sir.” He explained apologetically, in answer to Jack’s questioning frown.

Nodding his understanding, the Inspector dispatched the man to find a dry box and some clean newspaper. He could at least make the poor things a little more comfortable.

They had started a chorus of pitiful mewing that threatened to melt his heart. He glared at them. They kept doing it—if anything they got louder. Deciding he should perhaps check them for injury, Jack picked up the larger of the two kittens and extracted him from the box. He fit easily on the palm of one hand. Jack lifted the little cat up to eye level, trying to ascertain if it was hurt in anyway, but once out of the box it seemed quite happy. After plumping the palm of Jack’s hand with its paws for a few seconds the little fellow gave an exaggerated yawn, then curled up in a little circle and began to purr.

Apparently distressed at the loss of her companion, the black kitten was now showing much more interest in Jack. She had stretched out her paws in front of her with a pointed yawn, fixed him with a meaningful stare and meeped. His attempt to supress a besotted smile was completely ineffectual.

“Come here then,” he relented, picking her up with the hand not currently occupied and examining her critically.

She too seemed happier away from the fetid newspaper, and after a cautious sniff began licking his thumb with her rough little tongue. He sighed heavily and rolled his eyes, resigned to the fact that he had apparently been adopted by two kittens and that he clearly wasn’t getting any say in the matter. By the time Jones had returned with a box containing fresh newspaper and—in a surprising display of initiative— a small saucer and a bottle of milk from the tea room, Jack had managed to arrange his features into an expression more suited to a commanding officer. He was now holding both kittens to his chest, reluctant to return them to the dirty box, but not wanting to put them down unless they escaped.

“I can watch them for now if you dispose of the box, Jones. I’m sure I can find someone to take them in. We can’t have them hanging around the station.”

With as much dignity as a man can muster when cuddling two fluffy kittens to his chest, he strode purposefully back into his office, the constable following with the new box which he placed on his boss’s desk before beating a hasty retreat. Jack put his new friends down on the table, ready to pour them a saucer of milk. At the loss of his body heat they began to mew pathetically again, and he couldn’t resist reaching down and scratching first one then the other behind the ears.

“No need for that now.” He murmured gently, hoping that Jones couldn’t hear him through the door.

Once provided with milk the mews turned to enthusiastic purrs, followed by a short round of pouncing in which the grey kitten successfully captured his own tail and the black one attempted unsuccessfully to disembowel Jack’s handkerchief.

By the time the relief shift had arrived, ‘Marc Antony’ was fast asleep on Jack’s lap and ‘Cleopatra’ was industriously attempting to destroy a report on a string of burglaries in Fitzroy. Both were deeply indignant about being placed in their new box when he got up to debrief the early shift, so Jack decided there was no harm in letting them accompany him. The assembled day shift was therefore treated to the sight of their DI handing out assignments and issuing orders with his usual taciturn efficiency, but with one fluffy kitten in hand - which had rolled on his back in order to have his tummy tickled - and another perched on the Inspector’s shoulder, staring the junior officers down with all the ferocity of a warrior queen. It was a sight no-one at City South who saw it would ever forget, and yet no-one could quite bring themselves to question it. The warning expression that crossed the boss’ face whenever anyone appeared about to try, had them all looking hard at their feet and deciding that kittens of all kinds were a long way above their pay grade.  

Once the handover was complete and he was free to leave, Jack pondered what to do. He had intended to return home, catch a few hours’ sleep and make his way to Wardlow in time for Christmas dinner, hopefully cleaner and better groomed than he had been the year before. Not that Phryne had minded. He smiled again at the memory. On the other hand, Phryne had given him a key, and he had spent half the evening desperately wishing he was by her side. Plus, there was the issue of the kittens. Whilst he dearly wanted to take the pair home with him, realistically he wasn’t sure his chilly little bungalow was the best place for such young animals. He was out at work at all hours, and most of his time off these days were spent at Wardlow in any case. Then again, perhaps Phryne might appreciate a couple of little additions to her family. After all, she collected waifs and strays of all kinds and really, who could resist them? Making his decision, and fighting a strong suspicion that he was pushing his luck, Jack took the turning towards St Kilda, the box containing the kittens secure on the floor in front of the passenger seat.

Wardlow was unsurprisingly quiet when Jack entered the hall, although it was late enough by now that Mr Butler would soon be stirring. Setting his hat and coat by the door, Jack slipped up the stairs, hesitating for a moment outside Phryne’s door. She never normally minded him showing up after a night shift, in fact she actively encouraged it, but he hadn’t warned her he was coming and he did not usually turn up with a box of live animals in tow. He didn’t even know if she liked cats. It was quite possible that this had been a terrible idea.

Swallowing his anxiety, he pushed the door open, closed it behind him and set the box down by the side of the bed. Phryne was asleep, sprawled out with the covers tangled around her naked legs. Clearly, she had gone to bed before the temperature had dropped and had decided against any unnecessary layers. The sight was almost enough to have him forget about kittens entirely as he stripped down to his union suit to join her. Sensing his presence in the bed, Phryne sighed happily and rolled into him, wrapping her arms around him and nuzzling into his chest with a contented hum without opening her eyes.

One of the kittens gave a very loud and indignant meep from the box, apparently not taking kindly to being ignored. Soon the second kitten joined in, and before long Phryne had first raised an eyebrow, then opened her eyes, mutely requesting an explanation.

“Merry Christmas?” he suggested, sheepishly.

She yawned and stretched, before narrowing her eyes and pinning him to the pillow with an inscrutable expression.

“That remains to be seen, Inspector.” She angled herself over, locating the source of the noise which had disturbed her repose.

***

Phryne had gone to sleep reminiscing about the last Christmas she and Jack had spent together, it had certainly been one to remember.

_Waking naked in Jack’s arms for the first time had been the best present she could possibly have hoped for. She had turned to face him, gently tracing the line of his jaw, stroking the curl of hair that fell across his forehead as he slept on, dead to the world after his long journey and their subsequent late night. She felt giddy, drunk on him; she couldn’t seem to stop smiling, and it was the inane foolish smile of an infatuated schoolgirl not a grown woman with a whole world of experience. She didn’t care. He was here, it was Christmas Day. Wherever they went from here could take care of itself. Today, she was going to be nothing but happy._

_In fact, she had come up with a number of creative ways to wake Jack up which definitively secured her reputation as a seductress and to her delight, had made him curse in a way she had never heard him do before. They had only made it down to Christmas dinner at all because he insisted he didn’t want to cause an argument with her parents._

Phryne knew Jack had to work late this year and would have understood if he had wanted to go home and change after his long shift, but really, she had been hoping he would join her. Perhaps attempt a few of the more creative methods of waking _her_ up that he had perfected over the course of the past year. Instead, he had arrived at a godawful hour with a noisy box of kittens. They were adorable. Not only that, Jack was looking at them with an expression of misty eyed adoration it had taken over a year for her to elicit. That man. Always full of surprises.

“I have to admit, whilst I had hoped I might wake to find you in my bed this morning, Jack, I can’t say I was anticipating any extra guests.” She sounded a little irritated, but couldn’t quite keep the frisson of amusement from her voice.

She was doing her absolute best to level an admonishing scowl at him and was at first satisfied that he seemed unable to meet her eyes, but the dejected meows continued, and Jack kept shooting anxious glances towards the side of the bed, leading her to conclude that this was not a reflection on the intimidating power of her penetrating stare.

He looked back at her, embarrassed. “Someone abandoned them at the station, I couldn’t just leave them. Not at Christmas. I’m sorry, I should have taken them home. I thought perhaps you might like them?”

Phryne sighed, too tired to continue the charade in the face of his despondent expression.

“Well, Inspector, you might as well introduce me. As a general rule, I do like to at least know the names of those who gain admittance to my boudoir.”

Encouraged by her apparent acquiescence, Jack leant over her to pick up the box, removing first one kitten, then the other and placing them on top of the sheet which Phryne now had wrapped more securely around her. Satisfied that they were once again the focus of attention, the mewing stopped as the pair began to tentatively explore this new terrain.

Jack picked up the black kitten and handed her to Phryne.

“This is Cleopatra, careful, she’s a bit of a wild child.” The sly smile he shot her as he said that had her considering at least six different kinds of mutually satisfying revenge, three of which involved handcuffs and none of which could be accomplished with a pair of kittens on the bed.

_Damn him._

Cleopatra tilted her head slowly to one side, blinked at Phryne in acknowledgement, one queen to another, and began to wash her ears. Phryne gave up pretending to be irritated and reluctantly allowed the smile she had been fighting on principle to flicker across her face as she tickled the little cat under the chin before replacing her on the bed.

“Cleopatra? So, this I take it is Marc Antony?” she asked.

Jack nodded, passing him over. “What he lacks in dignity he makes up for in enthusiasm.”

Apparently fascinated by the sway of Phryne’s hair, Antony made a leap for it, missed and landed in a confused pile of fluff on the sheet which was still tucked around Phryne’s feet. He righted himself with a faint mrrrp, stalked unsteadily towards Phryne’s lap and flopped down dramatically with all four paws in the air. Seizing the opportunity, Cleopatra pounced, pinning the larger kitten to the bed and nipping at his ears in victory.

It was too much, Phryne burst out laughing and Jack joined her in frank relief. They snuggled together under the blankets, watching the kittens as they explored the maze created by limbs under fabric and discovered the joy of pouncing on Jack’s toes. Finally exhausted by their efforts, and with his feet roundly defeated, Antony and Cleopatra both clambered up onto Jack’s chest and fell asleep, purring gently as Phryne smoothed the soft fur on Antony’s back, her own head having been relegated to the crook of Jack’s arm. There was no question of course, the kittens would find a home at Wardlow, after all her house was nothing if not a haven for the lost. She glanced fondly at her partner, watching him gently stroke the back of Cleopatra’s head as he fell into a doze. It wasn’t such a bad way to be woken up, and you couldn’t say the man didn’t keep surprising her.

As the sun rose warm and bright on Christmas morning, Jack drifted off in a contented haze of sleepy happiness, thinking that perhaps some Christmases do come with miracles after all, even for a rational man.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne wakes up with kittens in her bed, what a way to start a Christmas morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently this is a multi-chapter now. I have no idea what is going on here so I'm just going to wing it. Mrrp.

Phryne woke later on Christmas morning to the incomparable sight of Jack Robinson, fast asleep and covered in kittens.

Cleopatra was splayed out on his chest, her head resting on his neck, her front paws dangling down towards his shoulders. Phryne bit her lip to suppress a laugh at the sight, and at the thought that she had apparently acquired some serious and unexpected competition for her Inspector’s affections. Marc Anthony, was curled in a tiny circle of fluff on Jack’s stomach, his eyes shut and his grey, stripy tail covering his nose. Apparently, he could sense he was being watched though, because he raised his head, blinked slowly and looked up at Phryne, tilting his head to one side and narrowing his eyes, as if trying to work out what to make of her.

“Mrrp?”

It sounded so much like a question that Phryne found herself answering it out loud without thinking.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to ask Mr Butler what we have in the pantry, Antony. I don’t have any breakfast up here for you.”

“Mrrrrp.”

The kitten shot her a dejected look and hung his head.

“Now don’t sulk, darling.”

She picked him up, cuddling the fluffy bundle to her bare chest and tickling his ears until he started purring again. He really was very sweet.

She sniffed. The box the kittens had arrived in appeared to have become a makeshift toilet at some point on their journey to Wardlow, and as the morning was already warm, it was beginning to give off a very unpleasant odour. She decided getting it out of her bedroom, and furnishing the new additions with some kind of sandbox was becoming a matter of urgency.

“No matter how sweet you look, I can assure you that any attempt to defile that bed will be met with swift and deadly retribution.” She informed the kitten sternly.

“Mrrp.”

“Oh alright, maybe that was an empty threat, but that doesn’t mean it would be a good idea to try.” She admitted reluctantly; honestly, trust Jack to bring home the only kittens in Melbourne with interrogation skills.

_Home._

The word had trespassed into her inner monologue without asking for permission, something that was happening more and more these days. Definitely time to get up then, if only to prevent the creeping threat of introspection.  

Deciding that Mr Butler could deal with the increasingly pungent box, Phryne replaced Antony on Jack’s stomach where he sat on his back legs and began to scratch himself. She got up and pulled on pair of satin pyjamas in a shade of pale gold and donned her favourite black robe, embroidered on the back with fighting cocks. Returning to the bed she picked up Antony, who nuzzled happily into the fabric of her dressing gown, and Cleopatra, who seemed more than a little put out to be woken and removed from Jack’s chest. She initially made a spirited attempt to get back there, before abandoning the attempt, probably to avoid giving the impression that she liked him. She pointed wide, disapproving eyes at Phryne but after a sharp rebuke, appeared to decide against her secondary plan of clawing her way through the silk of Miss Fisher’s dressing gown in a fit of pique and vengeance and settled for acting as if the move had been her idea all along.

Phryne descended the stairs a little more carefully than usual, wary that her little charges might at any moment make a break for freedom, or – as seemed more likely – attempt to get back to Jack who had clearly been adopted as their favourite, at least for now. Cats were notoriously fickle, and they hadn’t met Jane yet.

Entering the Kitchen with a sing-song, “merry Christmas Mr B,” Phryne placed the kittens on the table before either of them could mount a fresh attack on her dressing gown. Her Butler tuned and spotted the new arrivals, and returned her greeting with a cheerful smile and a professional nod.

“Merry Christmas to you as well Miss. Would you like me to find some breakfast for you and your guests?”

“Thank you, yes. And perhaps you could deal with the box they arrived in? It’s just up by the bed and it’s starting to whiff a bit if you know what I mean.”

“Of course, Miss. Would the Inspector like something to eat as well”’

He must have noticed Jack’s coat and hat in the hall, she thought. It was a gratifying thing for a detective to have staff with such excellent observational skills, not to mention useful.

“Not at present. He was out for the count when I came downstairs, no doubt he’ll join us if he gets hungry.” If there was one thing you could reliably predict with Jack Robinson, it was his tendency to follow his stomach.   

Before long Phryne was dining on drop scones and raspberry jam, alongside a large pot of tea, whilst Antony and Cleopatra, now sat on a clean sheet of newspaper in case of accidents, were tucking into some scraps of cold chicken from the icebox. Mr Butler had even found a cracked flat fruit bowl in the pantry, which when lined with an old towel made a very serviceable kitten bed. A small box filled with soil from the garden was placed next to them in the hopes they could be encouraged to use it but Phryne suspected there would be one or two mishaps before they mastered the technology. Cleopatra apparently considered the very presence of soil utterly beneath her notice and, having had her fill of chicken, licked her lips enthusiastically before curling up on her new fruit-bowl throne and goint to sleep. Antony tripped over his feet climbing into the box and never made it passed the lip.

Just as Phryne was finishing up her breakfast, Jane came bounding down the stairs in a new dress purchased for the occasion with a garland of tinsel wrapped around her hair.

“Merry Christmas Miss Phryne, Mr B!” she grinned at them, then stopped in her tracks, her already happy face lighting up like a firework at the sight of the kittens.

“Oh, Miss Phryne they’re _gorgeous_! Wherever did they come from?”

Phryne rose to give her daughter a Christmas hug, absentmindedly adjusting her tinsel wreath to a more fetching angle and smoothing the girl’s hair affectionately.

“Much as I would like to take the credit, Jane. You have Jack to thank for the new additions to the family. He arrived with them this morning, apparently someone abandoned them at the station last night.”

Adopting a formal tone, as if she was introducing honoured guests at one of Aunt Prudence’s dinner parties, Phryne waved a hand towards the kittens, now watching them with wide, curious eyes from the safety of their bed.

“Jane, may I present Marc Antony and Cleopatra. The newest members of the Fisher household.” She gestured to her ward, “Cleopatra, Marc Antony, this is Jane.”

“Rrrp.”

“Brrmp”

Jane rolled her eyes and laughed. “You can tell the Inspector named them,” she reached out and picked up Marc Antony, getting cat hairs all over her new dress as she set him on her lap.

“Awww, just look at him!” she began to stroke his chin, earning a pur and an immediate surrender, the kitten rolled over on his back in supplication, delighted to receive a belly rub from his new friend.

Entirely scandalised by this unacceptable preference for her companion over her clearly superior whiskers, Cleopatra jumped out of her bed and stalked forwards to investigate the newcomer, greeting her with an admonitory ‘prrp’ after discovering that Jane did not appear to be made of, or harbouring any more chicken.

“Hello there Your Majesty,” Jane returned the greeting with the same exaggerated formality Phryne had used, then giggled in delight when the cat responded with a soft ‘mrrp’ and sniffed at her outstretched fingers, just in case she had been mistaken about the chicken.

Phryne on the other hand was distracted by a discussion with Mr Butler about the preparations for Christmas dinner. They were to be joined at Wardlow by Dr Mac, Burt Johnson and Aunt Prudence. Burt’s friend and partner Cecil Yates and his wife Alice would be joining them later for drinks after returning from dinner with Alice’s family. Apparently, it now seemed Mr and Mrs Collins would be joining them at some point as well, along with their baby daughter Penny; who was a sweet child, at least when not covered in an indeterminate layer of something sticky, although this seemed to Phryne to be most of the time.

According to Mr Butler there had been a somewhat tearful telephone call from Dot the night before, after Phryne had gone to bed. The young couple had joined Dottie’s parents for midnight mass and a blazing row had been kindled when the Williams family discovered that they would not be staying with them for the whole of Christmas, but continuing on to Hugh’s parents for Christmas dinner. In a misguided attempt to keep the peace - so misguided in fact that Miss Fisher couldn’t help wondering if the man had been hitting the communion wine - Hugh had telephoned his mother, despite the lateness of the hour, and explained that they would not be able to make it for Christmas dinner. This had the effect of keeping the couple barred from her house for the foreseeable future. Whilst he had been on the telephone, the row amongst the Williamses had escalated from a litany of complaints about their lack of invitation to Hugh and Dot’s wedding, to a barrage of abuse against Hugh and his unforgivably Protestant family. The result being that none of the William’s family were currently on speaking terms and Hugh and Dot were without a place to go for Christmas dinner.  

“Oh, poor Dot,” Phryne sighed, she was no stranger herself to the difficulties that could be found within a family; it was far better, in her experience to choose your own and Dot and Hugh were very much part of hers.

“I took the liberty of extending an invitation to Wardlow Miss, I hope that’s alright?” Mr Butler was not in fact in any doubt of his choice, but convention and politeness dictated that he offered the appearance of deference rather than assume the authority himself.

“Of course, Mr Butler, I wouldn’t hear otherwise. What time are they arriving?”

“Around 10’o-clock Miss, Dorothy offered to help with the dinner preparations.”

This was not a surprise to Phryne as Dot had once confided in her that cooking was her favourite way to calm down when she felt cross or anxious. This made perfect sense as far as Miss Fisher was concerned, although her preferred solution was a very fast drive in her hispano-suiza. When in doubt, there was nothing like doing something you were really good at to focus your mind.

“In that case I better get dressed, it won’t be long before they get here.”

Before she could get up there was the sound of agitated footfalls coming down the stairs and Jack entered, wearing a dressing gown and looking unusually tousled. He looked very worried, but relaxed after spotting the kittens, who were now back on the table and pouncing on the tinsel that Jane had unwound from her hair to dangle in front of them.

“Morning Jack, merry Christmas.” Phryne exchanged a highly amused glance with Jane, both of whom had noticed the subtle change in his expression and neither planning to ever let him hear then end of it.

“Merry Christmas, Inspector. Thank you for bringing the kittens, they’re ever so sweet.”

Jane’s face was looking worryingly innocent, which, as with her guardian, was usually a sign of impending trouble, but having discovered that he had neither dreamed up or lost the kittens he had brought to Warldow the night before, Jack decided that all other considerations could wait until after breakfast. Letting his guard down was probably a mistake but it was one he could live with, at least until after coffee had been served.

“You’re welcome Jane, Merry Christmas.”

He walked around the table to drop a kiss and a Merry Christmas into Phryne’s hair, whilst Mr Butler with his customary omniscience set the percolator on the stove and began to whip up an omelette. The two kittens immediately abandoned their game and trotted over to greet him. Marc Antony actually attempted an ungainly leap into his lap and was only saved from disaster by Jack’s quick reflexes.

“Careful there, you know she’ll never let you hear the end of it if you injure yourself.” He told the kitten quietly, glancing up at Cleopatra, who was peering over the side of the kitchen table and meeping in distress.

Apparently realising quite suddenly that he had in fact been talking out loud to a kitten in a room full of people, the Inspector’s ears turned a beautifully festive shade of red and he cleared his throat, glowering at Phryne in the futile hope that she would let his pre-caffeinated comment go unremarked. Having seen that Antony was in fact unharmed and worse still, now settling happily onto a lap that she wanted to sit on, Cleopatra turned her back pointedly on Jack and returned to batting somewhat ineffectually at Jane’s tinsel.

“Jack! You’ve embarrassed the mighty queen of Egypt now! Men have been executed for less.” Exclaimed Phryne, feigning a scandalised tone and raising her eyebrows at her partner. He really was smitten with the little fiends.

He turned sardonic eyes on her, “with any luck her mercy will extend to a stay of execution, at least until I’ve had some coffee. After all it is a holiday.”

“Not in ancient Egypt though.” Jane pointed out.

“Hmph, true. In that case I expect I’m done for. Think fondly of me after I’m gone won’t you?”

Jane giggled, and apparently attracted by his voice, or possibly a desire to find Marc Antony again, Cleopatra returned to the edge of the table and began to lick at Jack’s hand which was now resting next to the coffee that Mr Butler had just served him.

“It seems you’ve been forgiven, Inspector.” Phryne observed, before lifting her own coffee to her lips and blowing on it.

“Do you think?” he asked, still not entirely sure that the surprise addition of kittens had been a welcome one.

“Provisionally,” she assured him with a slight, amused smile. “With any luck, they will be able to cheer up Dot and Hugh, it looks like we will be having extra guests for dinner.”

He frowned in question and she answered succinctly, “the Williams and Collins clans have declared open hostilities again, so we will be taking in the refugees.”

“Ah. I see, when will they be arriving?”

“Any minute now I should say.” Phryne paused to eye his rumpled hair and dressing gown with unmistakable approval as she spoke. “But I’m sure they won’t mind your less formal attire whilst you’re still eating your breakfast.”

Jack closed his eyes, wondering as usual why he was even slightly surprised that such important information had been kept from him, before abandoning his coffee to hurry back up to Phryne’s bedroom, before he was forced to greet his senior constable in a robe and pyjamas.

A melancholy chorus of mewing followed him up the stairs as he sped from the room, just in time to hear the little voices joined by those of Constable and Mrs Collins, who sounded if anything, even more unhappy than the abandoned kittens.


End file.
